The Midnight King (Cycle of Calamity #3)

Chapter 1

Theron

King Theron of Aureum, peerless healer and the most cunning monarch in Trisia, had gone from the greatest coup he’d ever achieved to rock bottom in less than a day.

He’d failed in the way that many men before him had failed—at the hands of a wicked seductress.

Hours away from finally leaving the goddess-forsaken enemy capital of Boreas, he’d made a valuable oracle his bride and left the vile Queen Flora of Viridis a laughingstock in the process.

But his midnight victory had turned to ash in the light of dawn.

His wife—his fated—Aurora, had betrayed him, allied with his enemies, put a sword to his throat, and demanded he take her back to Aureum as his queen—with Viridian soldiers at her beck and call.

His hand tightened on the reins of his mount.

If looks could kill, he’d be burning a hole into that two-faced traitor’s back as he seethed in the procession.

Ahead, Aurora was dressed as a Viridian princess in royal green, riding on her own grey loper, Orithyia at her side.

No doubt the wizened old bitch of a high priestess was whispering new schemes into her ear.

Perhaps they’d orchestrated the whole thing—meeting in the guest palace, the secrets she’d shared to gain his trust, playing hard to get only to have the Viridian queen threaten him with marriage to a princess he believed would kill him—everything.

And then he’d fallen for their trap, thinking that wedding Aurora was his path to freedom.

It was his most shameful defeat. Brought low by the same method he’d chosen to wrap the seemingly na?ve woman round his finger—seduction.

And yet, buried underneath his hatred was a kernel of respect.

Aurora had trounced him soundly. She’d played on his every weakness with consummate skill and ruthless efficiency, manipulating him in a way no one ever had.

Now he burned for some well-deserved revenge.

Knowing she was this cunning, Theron had plenty of ways to deal with her in kind.

Theron wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.

The sun had been hidden behind thick, grey clouds most of the afternoon.

On any other day, it might have been a blessing, but whatever respite the clouds might have afforded was undone by the sweltering humidity.

At least if he was sweating, he knew that little traitor in her heavy court gown must be sweltering.

“What did you do?”

Theron bit back a sigh as his aunt rode up to his side with a stricken look on her face.

Their lopers nickered uncomfortably at one another, mirroring their riders’ turmoil.

Myrina’s bewildered despair mirrored the ugly feelings he’d quashed inside him that morning.

This wasn’t just a minor blunder, it was a monumental one.

A marriage bound by Passion could only be ended in death.

Given the army his wife-turned-enemy was bringing with her back to his kingdom, he suspected Aurora had plans to become a widow.

“Nothing,” Theron replied tightly.

He didn’t need this interrogation right now, and certainly not from his aunt.

Why had Aurora turned on him? Had she always been a pawn of Queen Flora and Orithyia, put in his path to make him believe she was his only escape?

Had everything been a lie crafted for this exact outcome?

Or had the high priestess poisoned Aurora against him?

Whatever the case, he needed to discover it and soon—before an enemy horde of soldiers, bureaucrats, attendants, and lesser nobles flooded into his lands.

If the Triad were indeed merciful, monstrosities would devour the lot of them in a surprise attack.

“People don’t turn on their fated for no reason.” Anger darkened her features.

Anger at him. Disappointment. That hurt most of all. Even his aunt, who was more a mother to him than the woman who bore him, saw him as the one to blame. He smothered the hurt with his own anger.

“And are you certain the thread of fate that binds us isn’t dyed in the colours of Death?” he hissed.

As Passion’s sinister twin, Death’s dye was said to appear as a garnet red on one’s thread, compared to Her sister’s ruby. If the thread of fate that bound them were coloured in Death’s dye, then his course forward was clear—kill or be killed.

“I know what I saw,” Myrina said, bristling. “It was Passion who blessed your fates, not Death.”

“Really? Because this—” He gestured at the long, encumbered line of Viridian scum following them. “Looks a lot more like Death’s doing than Passion’s.”

Their numbers seemed as never-ending as the sea of green fields and orchards they passed, the clank of their armour, the thudding of their boots, and the creaking of their wagons almost loud enough to drown out the cicadas.

The Viridians’ combined stench had already befouled whatever good air the abundant greenery might have provided on this hot, windless day.

Myrina reached out to him, but he could take no comfort in it. He waved off her attempt at consolation.

“Put aside your wounded pride and think, my little lion. These are the actions of a woman consumed by fury. If you hope to salvage this union, you must speak to her.”

Why should he be the first to bend when it was she who’d betrayed him? Why must he ask for forgiveness when he’d done nothing to deserve this?

“Does it look like she wants to speak to me? And why are you so certain she’s innocent in this? She could have been Flora’s pawn this whole time!”

“If her feelings for you hadn’t been sincere, Passion would never have granted you Her blessing to wed. You felt Her gaze upon you during the wedding ceremony, Her fire roaring through you, testing the truth of your passions.”

Is that what the goddess had done? Then She needed to have Her sight questioned. Had he felt more than all-consuming lust with Aurora? Had she ever been more than an exceedingly convenient escape plan? A tool to control and wield for the benefit of Aureum?

Last night, he’d thought there was more, a fragile thread of mutual trust and the sharing of secret desires. She’d let him hope, made him want to become a good man—only to be reminded that good men could never be good kings. Not if they wished to keep their crowns. Lesson learned.

“And what if that passion was mere lust, nothing more, and now it’s gone?” he asked, speaking into being his darkest fears.

Had he really bound himself to a lifetime of turmoil and betrayals?

Was Fate truly so cruel? Would he need to become the kind of man who executed his Passion-bound bride?

If he returned from Viridis after having been freed from the mark of divine displeasure only to spit on a goddess-given gift, his own nobles would eat him alive.

Aurora had succeeded in tying his hands—for now.

“What if it’s not? What if this anger is merely a way for her to protect her pain, the same as you?”

That’s not what he was doing. He’d been outmanoeuvred by an enemy. What he felt was fury, pure and simple.

“Aunty,” he groaned.

He didn’t want a lecture or counsel right now. He wanted information. Facts. A strategy to either defeat his enemies outright or hobble them at every juncture until they were too weak and exhausted to put up a fight. He needed a way to undo the victory Aurora had won over him.

“Speak to her, please,” she pleaded.

“Fine,” he snapped. “But when that doesn’t work, I expect you to help me discover the truth—whether this is some fit of pique, or whether she was a liar all along.”

If the former, the punishment he intended for her would be severe. If the latter, he would need to contemplate the consequences of killing her.

“I’ll do what I can.”

Theron scowled, urging his mount forward to ride beside Aurora’s. The vile traitor in her green gown. How he wished he could shred it, cover it in mud, and toss it in a ditch. Force her to wear nothing but rags. After he’d given her gold gowns to wear, she’d chosen her traitor colours instead.

The high priestess noticed his coming. Whatever the conversation was between his wife and the high priestess ended when he approached. Orithyia smirked.

“That scowl of yours could lay waste to armies, Your Majesty,” she taunted.

“If only,” he muttered. “Go ride with your clerics. I have business with my wife.”

“Remember what I’ve told you, Aurora,” the high priestess said, slowing her mount and slithering away.

Theron kept an eye on Orithyia until he was certain she was well out of earshot. He needn’t give the old snake more information about him than she already had.

“Planning your next coup already, my sweet?” Theron hissed.

“I don’t need to,” Aurora replied, her voice cold and distant.

With her gaze trained on the road ahead, she refused to look at him. Fine, two could play at that game. She thought she was in a place of strength? That she could march this army into his lands and he wouldn’t put up a fight? Time to take her down a peg.

“No, I don’t suppose you do, since I’ll never make you my queen. You might have married me, but there has been no coronation—something only I can grant you. All you’ve done is ensure you’ll live the life of an abandoned concubine, the same fate I had in store for Epicasta.”

Her grip on the reins tensed.

“I don’t need a crown.”

“Ah yes, because you already have one, Princess. How does it feel to become the daughter of a woman who planned to have you assaulted for the entertainment of her peers?”

Her gaze remained trained ahead, but there, the merest tightening at the corners of her eyes.

“How does it feel to be a man without honour?”

He scoffed.

“Given the only traitor here is you, perhaps you should answer that question yourself.”

Aurora barked out a laugh.

“You really are a charlatan.”

“Says the woman who concocted an elaborate ruse to seduce me.”

She glared at him as if he were a bug that had crawled into her wine. Still, it was a reaction. Satisfaction curled in his chest. Then she bit out a retort of her own.